Dimanche in Carcassonne

Dimanche matin. Sunday morning. The drunks have sung themselves to sleep, heads resting on a doorframe. Fog settles around them, a white blanket for their slumbers. The morning is cool, cold even, and few people are about as we walk to one of the many boulangeries around Square Carnot. Baguettes are staked in wicker containers, croissant and pastries under a glass display counter. Later we sit in a café, drinking coffee, glad to be inside while the church bells ring out over the town.

As if the bells signalled the start of day families emerge, rugged against the cold, to have breakfast before preparing for the day’s activities. And in this the good people of Carcassonne have excelled. Shops on the main walking street are, unusually for a Sunday, open for pre-Christmas shopping. Patrons for the cafes in the sun spill out into the street, prepared to stand around drinking their coffee. A group of your men have gathered at one of these whose candy-striped exterior seems at odds with the masculinity they exude. Still, it appears to be a vantage point to watch those shopping, listen to the impromptu jazz band led by Santa on the drums, and assess the vintage sports cars bedecked for the Christmas parade.

The parade is one of those terrific instances of Gallic chaos. The cars have been driven into the square, where they squeeze between the temporary ice-skating rink and the café chairs set out in front of each establishment. Apparently the lead car continued around the square instead of turning at the corner, only to find its way blocked by a temporary barrier. The driver chose to simply park the car and head for the nearest café to wait out whatever happened next. He was followed by the other drivers who realised they had run into a dead end. This meant that the entire parade was gridlocked, necessitating much gesticulation, and tooting from other drivers in the parade who were negotiating the corner. Naturally some of the drivers who had followed the lead car were reversing, three-point turning, and tooting. They had limited opportunity for gesticulation as they were trying not to scrape their expensive antiques on the ice-rink, the café chairs, the many helpful bystanders, or any other car. 

Later in the day we find these cars lined up in a carpark that has been set aside for them along the river. All seems to be forgiven as the drivers are ensconced in a nearby restaurant eating lunch together, some still wearing their antlers.

There is also a children’s parade with animals, a small train and music. Perhaps as penance for some past indiscretion, there are two older teenagers, each on a segue, who are advertising a local telephone company. They are dressed in company colours and have a helium balloon fixed to their jackets. These two are still zooming about later in the day as the Parc Noel funfair kicks into action. This comprises a rollercoaster, a ferris wheel which we all went on, a splendid carousel as well as other stalls and rides.

Despite these strong contenders, today’s highlight was undoubtedly the Christmas Carols in l’Eglise des Carmines. The church is undergoing a renovation, and according to the parish newspaper, the parishoners have raised almost 1 million Euro for this. On a day when the sad news about Aleppo is unrelenting, an hour of unbridled goodwill and good cheer dispensed by a choir from the Democratic Republic of Congo who sang in French and danced, drummed and ululated, had the crowded cathedral jumping. The local children’s choir which followed, helpfully circulated their photocopied booklet of carols, so we were able to sing along in French!

To round off the day, we ate at a brasserie where the plat du jour was washed down with a couple of kir and a chocolat chaud.